


Put the sharpness back

by barrylen



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (poor Len), Allusion to Eating Disorder, Body Image, Chubby Leonard Snart, Coldflash Bingo 2019, Coldflash Bingo: Chubby Len, Fluff, Getting Together, Internalized Fatphobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, lots of talking about feelings, some ColdWest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barrylen/pseuds/barrylen
Summary: So apparently Len is dating the Flash. He can’t really deny it any longer, even though he still suspects that the universe is playing an incredibly well thought-out trick on him.





	Put the sharpness back

**Author's Note:**

> **Important:** Please check the tags before reading. This is about an actual chubby character, not someone who just perceives themselves as fat, so please only read this fic if you're fine with that. Potential triggers can be found in the end notes (a little spoilery).
> 
> Title from "Body Love pt. II" by Mary Lambert.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ♥

It’s just Len’s luck that he would run into the Flash outside of Jitters. Literally. What a great start into the day.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Barry says, checking that he hasn’t spilled any of his coffee before looking up. His eyes widen when he sees Len. “Snart?”

Len clears his throat and takes a few steps back to let a few hassled pedestrians hurry by, on their way to work. Barry follows him.

“Barry.” Len curses himself for not taking his cold gun with him. Or any kind of weapon. The last time they’d seen each other didn’t go over so well, what with Barry throwing him against the fireplace like he either wanted to strangle him or make out with him. (If he’s perfectly honest with himself, Len wouldn’t have minded the latter.) Yes, he did let him go without throwing him back into prison, but Len isn’t eager to have a confrontation with an angry Flash when he’s unarmed.

Barry doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood, though. “Hey. Long time no see.”

Yeah, that was kind of deliberate on Len’s part. He’s about to deliver a snappy one-liner so he can be on his merry way when Barry speaks again.

“Hey, um…” He passes his hand over the back of his head, and a shimmer of pink appears on his cheeks. “I’ve been thinking… I mean—would you like to, you know,” he gestures with the hand that’s not holding his coffee and Len raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to go out sometime? With me? For coffee, or a drink, or I don’t know, it doesn’t have to be any kind of beverage? How about dinner?”

Len blinks. “Look, if you’re trying to thank me for warning you about Mardon and Jesse, that was ages ago. It’s fine. We’re even.” If anything, he probably owes Barry for letting him go.

Barry sighs, shoulders slumping like Len is being obtuse.

“I meant as a date.”

The words rush out of him so quickly that it takes Len a moment to decipher them. When he does, the first instinct he has is to laugh, but he swallows it down. Barry fidgets where he’s standing, playing with the lid of his to-go cup. Len stares at him, waiting for a punchline. It doesn’t come.

“You,” Len says slowly, “want to go on a date. With me.”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Barry says.

“Is this some kind of prank?”

“Wh—no!” Barry wets his lips, gaze sliding away from Len. “You know, you could just say no so I can stop embarrassing myself.”

“No,” Len says. Barry’s face falls. “I mean, no, I’m not gonna say no. I’m saying yes.” Oh, god. Len kind of wants to slap his hand against his forehead, because, what the fuck. But since he’s in public, he just smirks when Barry beams at his words. “What about right now?” Len gestures to their coffees.

“Right now?” Barry’s beam turns into a soft smile. “I’d love that. But, uh,” he checks his watch. “I’m way too late for work already. Here—” He pulls a pen out of his jacket and takes Len’s coffee, scribbling a string of numbers on the side of the cup and adds a smiley face that Len raises his eyebrows at. “Text me?”

With a last, breathtaking smile at Len he vanishes behind the next corner, and a second later a streak of lightning flashes past Len. He looks after Barry until the lightning trail is gone, then slumps against the wall behind him.

What the _fuck_ was that?

 

*

 

It’s Lisa who makes him text Barry.

In his defense, he doesn’t actually expect her to lie in wait for him at his apartment, so he doesn’t have enough time to hide the coffee cup from her before her gaze zeroes in on it. But pretending that nothing’s out of the ordinary always works, right? So he puts it down on the coffee table in front of her and hopes she doesn’t notice.

“Lise, I told you to call ahead before visiting,” he mutters, hanging his coat by the door before taking the armchair across from the couch where she’s sprawled. He pulls his sweater down to make sure it covers all of his stomach.

“And _I_ told you that it ruins the surprise.” She sits up so she doesn’t have to turn her head to look at him. Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, what happened to you?” Damn her for being able to read him so easily.

“Long day.”

She snorts. “It’s ten am.” Then she snatches the paper cup off the coffee table between them before he can protest. “What’s this?”

Len picks nonexistent lint off the armrest of his chair. “Coffee.”

“You know what I meant, jerk.” She points at the phone number on the side of the cup, then examines it. “A guy, huh?”

He stills. “How would you even know that?”

“The handwriting’s messy even though he clearly tried to make it legible. And a smiley face? Come on.”

“That’s so stereotypical.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Len pulls a face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going on a date with him.”

It seemed like a less than disastrous idea at the time, but the more he thinks about it, the more it doesn’t sit right with him. Because there’s no way someone like Barry would go out with someone like Len. Even if he didn’t care about Len being a criminal, or his background, or who his father was, or how he tried to kill him and his friends more than once—

Even if he didn’t care about all _that_ , there’s still the… physical aspect. Maybe Barry just asked him out to be nice. Or out of pity. Len wouldn’t put it past him.

“Okay, hold on.” Lisa straightens up and puts the cup back down on the table so the phone number faces Len. She taps on the lid with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “Lenny. Brother, dear. A date? He didn’t just give you his phone number, but he asked you on a _date_? I bet he’s hot, too, isn’t he? You wouldn’t be such a mess otherwise.”

Please, he’s not a mess. But he doesn’t deny the _hot_ part. Someone has to be, right? Len crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“How’d you know that it wasn’t me who asked for a date?”

She makes a face like ‘really?’ and yeah, point taken.

“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do,” she says. She sounds far too gleeful for his liking. “You’re gonna call him and you’ll go on that date.”

“Lisa—”

“And if he doesn’t give you a goodbye smooch, I’ll tell you where Mick and I hid the Georgia O’Keeffe painting you’ve been after for years.”

Len narrows his eyes at her. “Do you mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

He has his phone out and unlocked in seconds, typing in Barry’s number, because screw the ‘wait two days’ rule. He ignores the smug look on his sister’s face.

She won’t be smug much longer, because he _will_ get that painting.

 

*

 

Len doesn’t have anything to wear. There’s literally nothing date-appropriate in his closet that still fits. He scowls at himself in the mirror before turning around and ripping off the Henley he was trying on, throwing it on the bed with about ten other shirts he can’t wear anymore.

He doesn’t know how it came to this. Except that he knows _exactly_ how it happened—he swore off drinking, some time ago, and the next best thing? Food. He can’t even properly enjoy it, anymore. It took him a while to notice how his body changed, because he’s always had some fluctuation in his weight, but this is on a whole other level.

Lisa’s theory is that the stress of almost losing her and killing Lewis messed him up on some level, but that doesn’t really help him.

All it gets him is nightmares of him turning into his father.

After Len’s pulled his sweater back on, an ugly old thing that was once too big on him, he takes a deep breath. He needs to get a grip on himself and either cancel the damn date or stop acting like he’s an insecure teenager. It doesn’t mean anything to him, anyway, apart from his little bet with Lisa. And he’s Leonard Snart, goddammit. He doesn’t give a shit about what other people think, especially concerning his looks.

He exhales and picks up his phone to call his sister.

The first thing she says when she picks up is, “Check the bag I brought yesterday, under the kitchen table.”

He furrows his eyebrows and makes his way into the kitchen, putting the phone down to pick up the large paper bag—why the hell is it so _heavy_ —and empties its contents onto the table. His throat goes dry when he sees what was in it. A few pairs of dark jeans, looking like they’d be tight but not uncomfortable and some sweaters and long-sleeved shirts made from high quality material, as well as a leather jacket and pairs of underwear that he rolls his eyes at. All a few sizes larger than the mountain of clothes on his bed.

Seems like his sister knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes.

Len picks the phone back up, still staring at the clothes.

“Thanks, Lise,” he says quietly.

“Don’t screw it up, asshole,” she sing-songs into his ear, and then she hangs up. Len snorts.

It’s just a date. He can do this.

 

*

 

Len can’t do this.

He refuses to check his watch again, because that would’ve been the tenth time in as many minutes. Barry is late, which isn’t entirely unexpected, but that doesn’t mean that Len is happy about it. It gives him time to remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

He was stupid enough to insist that he be the one to do the planning, and only now he’s slowly realizing that his plan might be a little over the top. But it’s too late to back out now—Barry is jogging around the opposite corner of the building, smiling and slowing down when he sees Len. In the light of the street lamps Len can see that his hair’s a little damp, probably from showering, and he looks so handsome that Len has half a mind to just turn around and leave.

“Sorry,” Barry says and pulls a face, “Seriously, sorry. There was a bank robbery, and a car chase…” He trails off at Len’s stiff nod and averts his gaze bashfully before meeting his eyes again. “You look really nice.”

Yeah, right. Len clears his throat and gestures at the building they’re standing next to—it’s one of the smaller structures belonging to Central City museum, specially dedicated to photography. Barry narrows his eyes.

“Are we doing something illegal?”

Len can’t help but chuckle, “A little. We can go somewhere else if you don’t want to—”

“No,” Barry rushes to say, and goosebumps rush up Len’s arm when their hands brush. “No, it’s fine. I’m drawing the line at stealing, though.”

“Of course.” Len’s voice comes out so soft that his cheeks heat up. He hopes it’s dark enough for Barry not to notice.

Len guides him down the alley to the back entrance of the museum by the sleeve of his jacket, and Barry’s eyes twinkle in the dim light when Len cracks the keypad in under ten seconds, holding the door open for Barry.

“This part of the museum isn’t monitored by guards around this time,” he explains in a low voice while he sets up a small device to disrupt the security feeds. “Come on.”

He jumps a little when Barry curls his hand around Len’s.

“It’s dark in here. Wouldn’t want to get lost,” Barry mumbles.

Len holds back a snort at the bullshit excuse, pulling him down the corridor. He knows he’s made a good call coming here when Barry makes an excited sound when he sees into which section of the museum Len leads him. He lets go of Len’s hand to squeeze his arm.

“The UPY exhibition? But it’s not even open to the public until tomorrow.”

“That’s the point,” Len says, smiling when Barry walks further into the room without remarking on the illegality of what they’re doing.

The light from the street lamps filtering in through the high windows is enough to illuminate the large prints of the photographs exhibited, most of them underwater shots of all kinds of marine animals and coral reefs.

“They’re beautiful,” Barry breathes, and Len has to agree.

They don’t talk much, but Barry refuses to let go of him as they circle through the exhibition, keeping a firm grip on his upper arm or his wrist. Len would’ve hated it, once upon a time. Now it’s almost soothing, even though Len isn’t convinced that it’s not just a pity date. At least Barry seems to have fun, and that’s what matters.

“Did you know this snail is as tiny as a rice grain?” Barry reads off the description next to one of the photographs.

“I do, now,” Len says dryly, and he doesn’t know what’s so funny about it, but suddenly they’re both trying to keep down their laughter.

When they’re back in the alley and the door to the museum is safely locked again, Barry still doesn’t let go of him. Len swallows hard.

“You’re not gonna let me speed you home, are you?” Barry says, and Len shakes his head.

“Nope.” He doesn’t say that he’s pretty sure he’s gotten too heavy for Barry to speed him _anywhere_.

“Okay.” Barry’s voice has a breathless quality to it, and Len’s heart jumps into his throat. “Is it okay if I…”

Len truly doesn’t understand what he means until Barry’s hands are cupping his face to pull him in and their noses brush, and he barely has time to think of Lisa’s bet before Barry presses their mouths together, soft and probing. He pulls away far too soon for Len’s liking and lets go of him, smiling.

“Thank you for tonight, Len,” he says softly.

Len doesn’t know if it’s the use of his nickname or something else that makes him do it, but he pulls Barry back in by his collar to kiss him, just a little on the rough side in case he’ll never get to do this again. Barry makes a pleased sound and circles his hands around his wrists, stroking along the sensitive inner sides with his thumbs. When there’s a flash of tongue against his lips, Len has to break the kiss so his brain doesn’t blow up on the spot.

“Goodnight, Barry,” he says and forces a smirk onto his face before disentangling himself and heading off.

He doesn’t turn around once.

 

*

 

When Lisa comes by to see him the next day, she takes one look at his face and starts laughing. She doesn’t stop gloating until he kicks her out of his apartment.

 

*

 

A few days later, Barry texts Len to ask if he wants to meet up after work.

In lieu of replying to the text, Len picks up coffees for them and waits on the steps leading up to the CCPD building, baseball cap pulled low in his face. Barry almost walks by him and has to do a double take, but the whole ordeal is worth it for the way his face lights up when he recognizes Len.

They go for a walk, idly strolling through downtown Central City until Barry is called away to a burning apartment complex. He pulls Len into an alcove between two clothing stores and presses him against the wall for a lingering kiss before he flashes off without warning, leaving behind a cloud of electric charge and the distinct smell of ozone.

Len is left staring at the opposite wall with two cups of coffee in his hands and half-hard in his jeans.

 

*

 

Len is using his well-deserved alone time to scope out a high-end jewelry store in one of the richer neighborhoods in Central, watching it from a stolen car on the other side of the road.

It’s exactly what he needs; focusing on when the employees change shifts (even if he doesn’t plan on robbing it during the day), what kinds of customers they have and thinking of the best way to disable the security cameras outside the store lets him escape his own head, a little.

Len’s eyebrows shoot up when a vehicle speeds around the corner, a black van with tinted windows, and comes to a screeching stop in front of the store. He has his phone out and is dialing Barry’s number even before he sees the four masked men jump out of the back of the van, brandishing semi-automatic weapons as they storm the store.

“Hey,” Barry says when he picks up, sounding so cheerful that Len gets distracted for a second. “I was wondering if you’d call—”

“ _Barry_ ,” Len cuts him off and slides down his seat just in case the driver glances in his direction. He’s not really in the mood for trouble. “There’s an armed robbery at the jewelry store on 8th and Park.”

The other end of the line is quiet for a moment.

“It’s not you, is it?” is what Barry says next, voice guarded, and Len pinches the bridge of his nose. It shouldn’t bother him that Barry is suspicious, since he has every right to be—Len had been casing the store himself, after all. It _shouldn’t_ bother him, but the last flicker of good mood he had dissipates all the same.

“Just get here. They look like the kinds of idiots who shoot at anything that moves when they’re high on adrenaline.”

Barry hangs up without confirming that he’s on his way. Len frowns at his phone.

Precisely twelve seconds later, he sees him—well, he sees a streak of yellow lightning. He can’t help but flinch when gunfire sounds from the store as soon as Barry’s inside, and before he can decide whether he should stay or leave, the gunfire stops.

A few employees flee the store and the driver of the getaway vehicle makes an admirable attempt to take off before he’s snatched up by lightning.

After that it’s quiet and Barry’s nowhere to be seen, but Len’s phone pings with a text from him.

_Where are u??_

Len rolls his eyes and sends him a short description of the car. He should’ve anticipated that the Flash would appear in the passenger seat just moments later. He doesn’t really want Barry to look at him in his faded, old sweater and worn out pants that he had to squeeze into this morning.

It’s a weird feeling being this apprehensive, this uncomfortable all the time. It’s why he’s preferred to mostly work alone, the past few months. His father is probably laughing at him from beyond the grave.

Len turns the car on and puts it in reverse without looking at Barry.

“What are you doing?” Barry asks. Out of the corner of his eye, Len can see that he’s pushing back his cowl.

“Getting the hell out of here,” Len says once the car’s out of the parking spot and on the road. “This place is gonna be crawling with cops in five minutes.”

Barry’s quiet for a moment before he nods.

“Yeah.” He glances down between them when Len shifts gears. “You can drive stick?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Huh.” Barry fidgets on his seat and doesn’t say anything else, and Len lets out an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want, Barry?”

“Hm? Oh! I wanted to apologize for, you know, thinking you’re robbing the jeweler’s in broad daylight.”

Len snorts. “I only called you on them ‘cause they got there first.”

Barry laughs at that instead of getting indignant, and Len can’t help smiling along.

He finally looks over at Barry when he has to stop at a traffic light, regretting it instantly. Barry’s eyes are bright, his cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy from the cowl, looking a little out of place in his red suit. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, maybe from work at the CCPD, and before Len knows what he’s doing, he’s reaching out to rub it off with his thumb.

Barry inhales sharply, and for a moment they just stare at each other. They both jump when a sharp honk sounds from behind them and Len almost stalls the engine when he sees that the light’s changed to green.

“Sorry, you had a—”

“Yeah, it’s—”

They cut themselves off at the same time, and Len exhales, pulling the car into the next free parking space he spots so he doesn’t embarrass himself any further.

“Don’t you need to go back to work?”

Barry passes a hand through his hair and nods. “Yeah. Look, uh, I know you’re probably not a movies person—or maybe you are but wouldn’t wanna go with me—”

Len huffs when Barry rambles on without getting to the point and reaches out to cup his elbow. It’s pretty effective in shutting him up.

“You pick. Just text me a time and date,” Len says. He allows himself five seconds to indulge in how the corners of Barry’s eyes crinkle when he smiles like _that_. “Now get out of the car.”

“Yessir,” Barry murmurs, still smiling, and puts on his cowl.

Just as he flashes away, Len could swear he momentarily feels the tingle of a pair of lips pressed to his cheek.

 

*

 

So apparently he’s dating the Flash. Len can’t really deny it any longer, even though he still suspects that the universe is playing an incredibly well thought-out trick on him.

He’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There’s not many people at the movie theater at ten in the morning, but he supposes that’s kind of the point. He can’t even remember the last time he was at the movies. Must’ve been when Lisa was still a kid.

Barry tugs at his wrist. “What would you like? Popcorn? Nachos?”

Len forces himself not to fidget. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You can’t go to the movies and not have popcorn. I’m getting us some.”

Len snorts but doesn’t argue—he’d rather shoot himself with his cold gun than have a conversation about food, these days.

The theater is almost empty when they enter it, and Len shakes his head when Barry makes a beeline for the darkest corner in the last rows. Subtle. Len doesn’t touch the popcorn, but it’s half-empty even before the commercials are over. He grumbles a little when Barry reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers on the armrest, resolve breaking quickly as soon as he sees the soft smile on Barry’s face.

He’s in way too deep, isn’t he?

As Len expected, Barry gets closer to him during the movie, squeezing his hand and nuzzling his jaw. Len acquiesces with a sigh, tilting his head so Barry can press a kiss to his neck. It’s more physical contact than he’s had with anyone for what feels like years, and it’s _good_ , it’s comfortable until—

Barry’s other hand is stroking along his stomach, right over the flabby part that protrudes over the waistband of his pants, and his touch is light, but there’s no doubt that he can feel how soft, how _big_ Len’s stomach is through his shirt.

“You okay?” Barry whispers when Len tenses up, and Len gives him a tight nod.

“I gotta… bathroom,” he says, disentangling himself from Barry, not even able to glance at him as he gets up from his seat.

In the bathroom, he braces himself on a sink, sucking in deep breaths. He avoids looking into the mirror. He can’t do this. He can’t _do_ this.

The sound of the door opening behind him makes him flinch.

“Hey,” Barry says and Len turns around to face him, promptly forgetting what he was going to do because he finds himself with his arms full of a Scarlet Speedster who’s pressing him back against the sink and starts kissing him like his life depends on it, and Len can’t do anything but kiss back, clutching his shoulders.

This time Len doesn’t pull away when Barry’s tongue teases at his lips and opens up for him to explore, a groan building in his throat when their lower bodies brush.

But the moment when Barry’s hands fall to Len’s hips and he nudges his leg between Len’s thighs is like a bucket of ice-cold water. It effectively kills every little spark of arousal.

Len breaks the kiss and pushes Barry away by his shoulders, getting a confused look in return.

“What are you doing?” He hates how breathless he sounds.

Barry blinks. “Is this not a ‘meet me in the bathroom in two minutes so we can make out’ situation?”

“ _No_.” Len huffs a humorless laugh and pushes Barry’s hands from his hips, then takes a few steps toward the door to put some space between them. “It’s just… you know what, I don’t think I’m into this dating stuff after all. This was a mistake. I… I should go.”

“What—” Barry stops him from leaving with a hand on his arm. “Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you just now.”

He sounds so earnest. Len clenches his jaw.

“Come on, Barry, you can’t be that oblivious. It’s just not working, okay? No hard feelings.”

“Oblivious?”

Len shrugs.

Barry sighs and slides his hand down Len’s arm to take his, and Len lets him, like an idiot. Despite everything, he can’t help but feel the need to be close to him, to be touched by him. It’s exhausting.

“I honestly don’t know what you mean. Please talk to me?” Barry doesn’t seem to be lying, and Len hates him so much. (He really doesn’t, but that’s beside the point.)

Len clears his throat and shakes Barry’s hand off.

“You’re _you_ and I’m…” He gestures at himself. “You can’t seriously tell me you like this.”

“I thought we’ve already established that I like you,” Barry says, looking a little like a kicked puppy, and Len lets out a frustrated groan. He can’t say it. He can’t say it out loud.

So he grabs Barry’s arm and drags him into a stall before he has time to talk himself out of it, slamming the stall door shut behind them and takes Barry’s hands, shoving them under his shirt to press them against his belly, right where it’s flabbiest.

Barry’s eyes are wide, hands twitching where they rest on his stomach, and Len averts his gaze.

“ _This_ , Barry. I know how much I’ve… _changed_ since last year. I know it’s unappealing, and I can’t think of a single reason why you’d want this.”

Instead of withdrawing his hands and recoiling as soon as Len lets go of him, Barry keeps them on his belly for a long moment before sliding them to his hips, stroking his skin. The gentle touches shoot through Len like small charges of electricity that make his heart pound in his chest.

What the hell is he _doing_?

“That was, like, the most open you’ve ever been with me,” Barry murmurs. Len snaps his eyes up. The look on Barry’s face can’t be described as anything else but fond, smile growing wider when Len meets his gaze. “I like you, Len. All of you.”

Len takes a step back, missing the warmth of Barry’s hands immediately when they fall away, but at least he can think a little more clearly.

“Even if that wasn’t an issue,” he says, and despite all expectations his voice is steady, “How did you think this was gonna work? Would you ever tell your little superhero friends about it? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m seeing Captain Cold’?”

Maybe at least that will finally make him come to his senses.

“Um.” Barry’s face morphs into a sheepish grimace, a hint of pink on his cheeks. “They kind of… already know?”

“ _What_?”

Barry groans and rubs a hand over his face.

“Look, can we have this conversation anywhere but in a public bathroom? I could speed us to my apartment—”

“No,” Len presses out between his teeth. “You can’t. I’m too heavy.”

Barry just stares at him for a second. Then he snorts.

“You’re so full of shit.” The way Barry says it sounds like an endearment.

Before Len can retort Barry grabs him around his waist, and then they’re off. Len keeps his eyes squeezed shut until there’s steady ground under his feet again, a pair of hands gently steadying him when he sways to the side.

They really are in the living room of a small apartment with a kitchenette in the corner, the door to the bedroom open so that Len can glimpse the edge of a bed. Barry must’ve moved out from West’s house in the past year. He isn’t even out of breath and it doesn’t look like it took him any effort at all to carry Len with him, laughing when he sees Len’s scowl.

“C’mon,” Barry says and takes his hand, pulling him into the bedroom and pushing him down to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed.

“Planning on seducing me?”

“Sure.” Barry’s apparently not the least concerned about personal space—Len’s heart skips a beat when he doesn’t sit down next to him like any normal person would do but straddles his lap and wraps his arms around his neck. Len instinctively holds onto Barry’s hips. There’s a dimple in Barry’s cheek when he smiles. “Only if you want that, too, though.”

He huffs at Len’s blank look, smile fading. “It’s only Cisco, Caitlin and Iris who know. It kind of just slipped out when they asked me about that robbery.”

“And now they’ve disowned you forever?”

“No, of course not.” Barry shrugs. “They’re not too thrilled, but at least nobody yelled at me.”

He’s so close and so warm where he’s sitting back on Len’s thighs that it’s getting hard to focus on anything else. Barry’s fingertips are stroking along the back of his neck, slipping under the collar of his shirt. Len swallows thickly and forces himself to get the fuck over that cowardly feeling in his chest.

He barely has to tilt his head up to kiss Barry, and Barry sighs into it, letting Len take the lead. It’s hard to believe that it’s Len who’s the cause for the sounds Barry makes when he slides his hands down to his ass to pull him closer, little breathy moans that are muffled by Len’s mouth.

Barry chuckles when Len squeezes his ass—seriously, no one should be allowed to have an ass that nice and firm—and presses another kiss to his lips before drawing away just a little to nuzzle his cheek.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t wanna,” Barry whispers, his lips brushing along Len’s jaw, “but I give a mean blowjob.”

Len makes a sound that’s half-laugh, half-groan. “You can’t just say things like that, Barry.”

“Just did.”

Barry straightens up and smiles down at him, and there’s a peculiar sensation in the region of Len’s stomach that he decides to ignore. If he didn’t, he’d probably have to think of words like _butterflies_. And Leonard Snart does not get butterflies in his stomach.

The sensation turns into something akin to dread when Barry traces his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, playing with the top one.

“Can I?” he asks, and Len clenches his jaw and nods, mentally preparing himself for… he doesn’t know. Rejection? Disgust? Barry forcing himself to touch Len and trying not to let on that he’d rather run for the hills?

Barry kisses him again while working the buttons of his shirt open, one by one, but pulls back when Len is too distracted to kiss back properly.

“Hey,” Barry says, voice soft, and stops before opening the last few buttons. He cups Len’s face. “It’s okay. We can stop, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

Len almost laughs. Makes _him_ uncomfortable, right. He shakes his head and doesn’t break eye contact as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt and pulls it off without further ado. Like ripping off a band-aid.

A small smile makes its way onto Barry’s face. He rests his hands on Len’s shoulders, slowly like he’s afraid to startle him. His gaze drops to Len’s torso and he wets his lips, stroking his hands down his chest ( _saggy_ , Len’s mind supplies unhelpfully), dragging his thumb over a nipple, shoulders shaking with silent laughter when Len makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Len catches his hands before he has the chance to move down further to the bunched-up fat on his sides and hips, to the flab of his belly. Like this, he doesn’t even care about all the scars on display. What he cares more about is the mostly colorless but very much visible stretch marks on the sides of his chest and on his belly. Before he gained so much weight in such a short time he hadn’t even known that men could get them.

“You don’t have to,” Len says. His voice is rough, and he doesn’t know if it’s from being touched or from how much he wants the ground to swallow him up. This time he can’t meet Barry’s eyes. “I know it’s repulsive.”

He doesn’t say _I’m repulsive_. There he is, being open and honest again, but he’d rather have this than make Barry touch him when he doesn’t want to.

“ _Len_. Look at me.” The deep sorrow on Barry’s face almost makes Len flinch. Barry pulls his own sweater off—he has abs, which is entirely unfair—and takes Len’s hand, pressing it to the front of his jeans. _Oh_. “There. Does that feel like I’m repulsed?”

No, it really doesn’t. He’s so hard that Len can feel the heat of it through the thick fabric.

“So you have a fetish.” Len manages a wry grin, but Barry doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. He lets go of his hand and slides off his lap to sit next to him on the bed, pressing their shoulders together.

“Is it so hard to believe that I like you, no matter what your body looks like?” Barry sighs when Len doesn’t answer. “Fat isn’t ugly, you know. Or repulsive. There’s just more of you now than there was before.”

Funny, his sister says about the same thing every time she catches him frown at himself in reflective surfaces or push his food around on his plate.

“And I, um…” Barry takes Len’s hand, stroking his thumb along his knuckles. “And I love every single version of you.”

Len stills. Blinks at Barry.

“What?” The word comes out as barely a whisper.

“You’ve been so open with me, today. Now I’m being open with you.” Barry shrugs and looks down at their hands.

He said it so matter of fact. Grass is green, water is wet, and _I love every version of you_.

They’re quiet for a moment.

“I think I’ve filled my yearly quota of talking about my feelings in just the past hour,” Len says dryly. “But… would you like to give it another try?”

Barry throws him a quizzical look, and Len guides his hand back to his chest.

Barry swallows audibly, nodding, and then he’s pushing Len back onto the bed and settles down on his hips. Len’s legs are hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed, but he barely notices it. His hands still twitch with the urge to pull Barry’s hands away from where he’s feeling out every inch of bare skin he can reach, fingers tracing scars or birthmarks when he bumps into them, but Len keeps them firmly at his sides.

Then Barry’s mouth follows his hands, gently biting and licking and sucking kisses along his chest and down his stomach, paying special attention to where his fat is most prominent even while lying down. Len’s pretty sure he’ll sport an impressive collection of hickeys, after this.

He’s so hard it aches.

Barry notices it, too, and shoots him a sly look, knuckles brushing over his bulge.

“Does that mean I can suck you off?”

“ _Yeah_.”

Barry pops the button of his pants open.

“You remember that stick car?” He rests his hand on his fly and sucks another wet kiss into the swell of his stomach, right above the waistband of his pants. “That was so fucking hot, Len. Wanted to blow you right there while you were driving.”

Len huffs a laugh even as his dick twitches under Barry’s hand. “You’re turned on by stick cars?”

Barry snorts. “No. Turned on by _you_ driving that car, so sure of yourself.” He pulls the zip down and watches Len’s face as he plays with the waistband of his boxers. “Your hand on the gear shift—god. I had to jerk off in the bathroom before going back into work.”

The words rush up his spine, and Len groans and grabs Barry’s hair, pushing him down.

“Stop talking, Barry.”

Barry laughs but finally gets on with it.

He didn’t lie, before—he does give a mean blowjob. Len has to stare at the ceiling for most of it so it’s not over before Barry’s even properly taken him into his mouth, but he still doesn’t last longer than five minutes. He blames the fact that he hasn’t had sex for… yeah, he’d rather not add up the years. And Barry’s little vibration tricks don’t help, either. Show-off.

After Len finishes with his fingers knotted into Barry’s hair, hips jerking and sounds of pleasure escaping his mouth that he’d deny at gunpoint, Barry straddles him again and undoes his own jeans, pushing them carelessly down to his thighs along with his underwear. He pulls a bottle of lube from somewhere and slicks himself up—Len kind of can’t believe how hard he is—and braces his hands next to Len’s shoulders, a broken moan escaping him when he starts grinding against Len.

Len tugs him down by the back of his neck to kiss him and grabs his ass with his other hand to guide his movements, and Barry gasps into his mouth as his dick slides along Len’s belly, again and again and again until his hips stutter, sucking on Len’s tongue to stifle his groans when he comes messily between them.

“ _Shit_ ,” Barry pants and presses his face to Len’s shoulder. “Fuck, that was good.”

Len snorts.

“I knew it’s a fetish,” he mutters, not entirely serious, and Barry makes an amused sound.

“If I have any fetish,” he says, then has to pause for a drawn-out yawn, “it’s a Leonard Snart fetish.”

 

*

 

If Len thought that was the only talk they’d ever have about his _physical attributes_ or his eating habits—like ticking a box and be done with it, making room for less awkward, less unpleasant conversations—he’s proven wrong less than a week later.

He stayed at Barry’s apartment the night before, surprised by himself when he woke up in an unfamiliar bed and wasn’t bothered by it.

They spend the whole morning in bed, exploring each other’s bodies (a little reluctant, on Len’s part) until they’re sweaty and spent. After showering—not together, that’s where Len draws the line—and putting their clothes on, Barry speeds into the living room, rummaging in a drawer. Len follows him and sits down on a chair at the small table, pulling at his sweater so it doesn’t cling to his stomach. On the other side of the room, Barry pulls something from the drawer with a triumphant sound.

“I’m _starving_ ,” he says. Len’s blood runs cold when he holds up two takeout menus. “Chinese or Indian?”

Len exhales slowly. They haven’t even eaten yet today, but he’s not in the mood for breakfast food either. He’s going to make his excuses and go home—he’s hungry, too, but he’d rather heat up a few slices of pizza leftovers from the day before, and he’s pretty sure there are still veggies for a salad in his fridge. It doesn’t sound as appetizing as fresh takeout, but at least he’d be alone.

“You pick,” is what comes out of his mouth instead.

Dammit.

“Chinese it is.” Barry pulls out his phone and smiles at Len. “I’m just gonna order my usual, that’s more than enough for the both of us. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No pork,” Len says, getting a soft _okay_ in reply, and then Barry rattles off a list of orders, Len’s eyebrows climbing higher and higher the longer he talks. But anyway, Len is relieved that he doesn’t have to order anything for himself and be expected to eat it all.

 

*

 

He should’ve left.

There’s a huge plate with the most delicious smelling takeout in front of him, and he can’t even get a single bite near his mouth. Barry is gesturing with his hand while shoveling food into his mouth with the other, telling him about how much he has to eat so he doesn’t faint and about evil speedsters and time travel, which is _insane_ , but Len can’t even listen properly.

Barry notices it halfway through his second serving.

“Is it—don’t you like Chinese after all? Shit, did I accidentally give you something with pork in it?” He’s so distressed that he doesn’t even leave time for Len to answer him. Len refuses to think it’s cute. “I could get something else, or run to the bakery around the corner—”

“Barry.” Len feels a smile pull at his lips when Barry looks at him with wide eyes. “It’s fine. The food’s fine. It’s just—I don’t—”

He huffs a sigh, unable to find the right words, but understanding dawns on Barry’s face.

“Oh, Len,” he says and puts his chopsticks down to slide his hand over Len’s. Len hates that he’s the reason for that pained expression on his face. “You’re just gonna fuck up your metabolism if you don’t eat enough. And then you’re only gonna gain—”

“I know, Barry,” Len says before he can continue, a little exasperated. “It’s not that. I’m not _not_ eating.” He bites back the _obviously_. “At the moment I just… don’t like to eat around people.”

Len almost expects Barry to laugh or tell him to stop being ridiculous, but he just nods slowly.

“Okay.” He looks at Len’s plate, then back at Len. “How about this…” He takes the plate and dumps about half of what’s on it onto his own before setting it down in front of Len again. “Better?”

Len exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The portion looks so much more manageable now, and he doesn’t know why, but the simple gesture makes him want to drag Barry right back into the bedroom. Even though part of him resents himself for letting Barry treat him like a child.

He finally takes a bite and chews slowly, then takes another one, relieved when Barry only shoots him a smile and turns back to his own food.

“After the past week I’m gonna have to hold up a bank or two and get you reacquainted with my cold gun,” Len says under his breath, and Barry snorts.

Before he can reprimand Len—or worse, start with the ‘there’s good in you’ speech—there’s a knock on the door.

They both freeze.

“Hang on,” Barry whispers and sneaks to the door, checking the peephole. He turns back to Len with a grimace. “It’s Iris. Should I tell her to leave, or…?”

Len shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Barry says and nods once, then takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Iris looks as put together and beautiful as always, even when she frowns at Barry as soon as he opens the door, slapping his arm as she steps into the apartment.

“Ow!” Barry rubs his arm, and Len can just barely suppress a snort. “What was that for?”

“We were worried!” she says. Barry winces. “Caitlin said she and Cisco haven’t seen you since yesterday and you haven’t replied to any texts or returned our calls—”

She stops short when she sees the array of takeout containers on the counter. Then she turns slowly around. Len has to hand it to her—she barely reacts when she sees him apart from a twitch of her mouth.

The smirk doesn’t come as natural to him as it did the last time he saw her. “Miss West.”

“Snart. Well, that explains it.” She gives him a once-over and sets her bag down next to the chair opposite him. “So I get to officially meet the boyfriend after all.”

Len stills. _Boyfriend_?

He looks over Iris’s shoulder to raise a pointed eyebrow at Barry, who pulls a face and mouths a ‘Sorry’ at him from behind her back.

She sits down and crosses her legs. “Barry, get me some chopsticks, would you?”

Barry mutters something like _yes ma’am_ under his breath, and the corners of her mouth twitch up, schooling her expression when Barry sits down again and hands her the chopsticks.

Len blinks when she steals a spring roll from his plate. She keeps looking at him, and he shifts a little on his chair, knowing that Barry knows exactly how uncomfortable it makes him. Barry inhales and opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it promptly shut when Len picks up his cutlery again and continues eating.

Small bites, chewing slowly, but still.

Barry’s hand slides onto his knee under the table, squeezing, and Len can’t control the traitorous smile on his face even as he rolls his eyes.

Iris watches the exchange with thinly veiled interest, then selects a piece of chicken from Barry’s plate, going back to looking at Len as she chews.

“So,” she says, swallowing. “You like to make deals, right?”

“Deals?”

“Yeah, something like… I won’t give you the shovel talk if you transfer $1000 to my bank account each month?”

“ _Iris_ ,” Barry says, admonishing, but Len has to laugh.

“Pitch me the deal you actually have in mind and I’ll see what I can do.”

Barry gives him a slightly scandalized look. Len can’t believe how much he’s enjoying himself.

“Well.” She leans forward to rest her forearms on the table. “How about I won’t snitch to my dad that dear Barry here is dating Captain Cold, and in exchange you’ll give me some… insider information for my articles.”

“Why, Miss West,” Len drawls, “that sounds suspiciously like blackmail.”

Barry covers his face with his hands, shaking his head.

A slow smile spreads on Iris’s face and she steals a piece of broccoli from Len—she’s as bad as his sister, honestly—then points her chopsticks at him.

“Criminals don’t have the monopoly on playing dirty,” she says, giving him a sly look from under her eyelashes. “So, what do you say?”

Iris holds her hand out and Len sighs, glancing at Barry who’s watching Iris with narrowed eyes, and takes her hand.  

“Fine. Deal.”

She holds his gaze and purses her lips almost as if she’d burst out laughing otherwise and squeezes his hand gently before letting go.

Barry clears his throat. “Iris, do you mind…” He gestures to the door and Iris snorts, nodding.

After she gets up and grabs her bag she gives Len another long, considering look. “If you break his heart… well, you know how it goes.”

That he does.

Barry accompanies her to the door and assures her that he’s gonna text Cisco and Caitlin soon and closes it behind her, then turns to Len. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows drawn together.

“What’s wrong?” Len sets down his fork.

In a flash of lightning, Barry appears directly in front of him and grabs ahold of Len’s collar, and Len lets himself be pulled up from his chair and walked backwards until his back is hitting the wall, and then Barry is kissing him hard, hands cupping his face, thumbs massaging his jaw to coax his mouth open.

Len’s eyes close of their own accord and he slides his hands around to the small of Barry’s back, pulling him closer until they’re pressed together head to toe. Barry growls in the back of his throat, kissing him so thoroughly that Len can’t tell up from down until they break apart, breathing harshly.

“What was that for?” Len asks, voice rough. Barry’s eyes darken.

“She was flirting with you.” It comes out grudgingly, like a child admitting they stole someone else’s toy.

Len swallows down a laugh. “She wasn’t _flirting_ —” He falls quiet and tilts his head to think on it. “Was she?”

He mostly says it to goad Barry on, and it works perfectly. Barry growls again and rips the collar of his sweater aside to fit his mouth to the sensitive skin where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking hard with a hint of teeth. Len bumps his head back against the wall and slips one of his hands beneath the waistband of Barry’s jeans and into his boxers to cup his ass (because how could he not), reveling in how Barry groans and nips at his skin in retaliation.

“Possessive, are we,” Len pants and manages not no flinch when Barry pushes his hand under his sweater to grab his hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh a little harder than strictly necessary, making Len smirk. For some reason, he can handle this better than the soft touches Barry had stuck to before. “ _Boyfriend_?”

That makes Barry pull back, his intense demeanor ruined by his wide eyes and sheepish expression. It’s adorable.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I never actually said that to her? She just assumed and…” Barry shrugs. “I didn’t correct her.”

“It’s fine,” Len murmurs, stroking his fingers along the crease where Barry’s ass meets his thigh just to hear his breath catch. “You can. Call me that.”

Barry’s eyes twinkle.

“Yeah?” He brushes their lips together, feather-light before drawing back again. “You know Iris would never tell Joe or anyone else about us without our permission, no matter if you have a deal or not, right?”

Len nods even though he hadn’t been sure. He reluctantly pulls his hand out of Barry’s pants.

“I don’t know about you,” he says, “but I’m still hungry, so…”

If Barry notices how much it takes Len to say that, he doesn’t show it. He just kisses him and smiles, “Me, too.”

 

*

 

Two weeks later, Barry still doesn’t want to get rid of Len. Len might have to consider the possibility that the universe isn’t actually playing a trick on him. Unlikely, in his opinion, but the evidence speaks for itself.

He’s in that hazy state between sleep and waking up, subconsciously noticing that another body is curled around his, little puffs of breath tickling the back of his neck. Len tries to shift to get feeling back into his numb arm that he’s been resting his head on, but an unhappy sound comes from behind him. Barry’s arm that he’d thrown over Len’s middle tightens, not letting him move an inch. They’re still naked from the night before, a fact that Len becomes acutely aware of the longer he’s awake.

“Barry,” Len mumbles, voice still rough from sleep. Barry hums and presses his lips to his shoulder, hand stroking along his belly, and Len almost snorts when he nudges his knee between Len’s thighs and very unsubtly grinds against him. “Barry,” he repeats. “You know I’ll fuck this up, right?”

Barry freezes. What Len really wants to say is, _You’re too good for me_ and _I don’t deserve you_ and _You could have anyone else in the world_ but he’s pretty sure Barry would either not take him seriously or not let go of him until he’s convinced that Len believes the opposite. “You know who I am. What I do.”

He turns around so he can look at Barry, taken aback by the small, tired smile on his face. Barry doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He considers him thoughtfully, eyelashes fluttering when Len drags his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I know what you do,” he says softly and takes his hand to interlace their fingers. “But you won’t fuck this up. And even if you did, I won’t let you go that easily.”

What an idiot.

“You’re an idiot,” Len says. Barry’s mouth twitches up.

“Well. Takes one to know one.”

Barry laughs when Len’s mouth drops open in mock-indignation and takes the opportunity to fit their mouths together, sliding his hand down to Len’s ass to pull him closer until their bodies are flush. Len hasn’t quite gotten used to Barry touching his body without any hesitation, without any signs of repulsion. That he can grab his belly, his hips during sex and stay hard despite his fingers sinking into flab, despite the way Len’s flesh jiggles even at the smallest movement.

Letting someone be this close to him, on a physical and an emotional level, is all kinds of exhausting. But he can’t deny that it’s _good_ , that being with Barry is like a breath of fresh air. He’s able to make Len forget how much he despises himself sometimes. He doesn’t care about his age. He’s been through so much shit, but he has this light in him that Len doesn’t ever want to see extinguished.

So for now Len will take what he can get. And if he ever does fuck up this thing between them… well, at least he’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that he was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are ♥
> 
> My tumblr post for this fic and my CF Bingo card can be found [here](https://barrylen.tumblr.com/post/184731233780/put-the-sharpness-back-by-barrylen-pairing-barry).
> 
>  **tw:** low self-esteem, mentions of disordered eating, internalized fatphobia, detailed descriptions of chubby physique in non-sexual and sexual situations, mentions of fat fetishism


End file.
